


Least of His Worries

by VCCV



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, results of offscreen animal cruelty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: Another typical dumpster experience for Kurt turns out to be anything but typical.





	1. Chapter 1

The jocks finally caught him in the parking lot. Puck and Finn had suggested that Gleek torture be taken off of the table, and so the trips were fewer and further between; but Kurt still saw the inside of the dumpster at least once a week. He’d managed to avoid them this whole week, so he wasn’t surprised to see three of them swaggering up to him Friday afternoon.

“Hey, Brokeback!” Knuckle-Dragger One—Kurt thought his name was Barnes? Baines?—laughed at his cleverness, while Knuckle-Draggers Two and Three high-fived each another. Silently, Kurt set down his expensive Vuitton bag and tucked his matching scarf safely away. 

“I guess your boyfriend isn’t around to save you this time, huh queerboy?” Another round of high-fives. “He might have gone soft over you bunch of gleek freaks, but the rest of us know just how to put you back in your place.”

“Yeah! A smelly and dark place,” Fletcher? Farmer? added. Barnes/Baines stretched out an arm and slapped him upside the head. “What? The dumpster’s dark. And smelly. And it’s a place, right?” Fletcher/Farmer protested, rubbing the back of his head.

“Shut up, moron. Just lift him up high enough that we don’t have to touch the dumpster to get him in.” The airborne sensation only lasted a moment, and then Kurt thumped down onto empty supply boxes and cafeteria garbage bags.

He lay where he landed, listening to the whoops and laughter; he wasn’t getting out until they’d gotten their fill of back patting and arm punching, anyway. But the laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by sounds of scrambling.

Heading to his car, Puck heard raised voices and familiar catcalls. He cursed, paused a moment, then heaved a sigh. Squaring up his shoulders, he turned toward the sounds of celebration. Karofsky, Fletcher and Ames stood in front of the cafeteria dumpster, doing lame-ass touchdown poses. 

Puck couldn’t actually see who was in the dumpster, but the ridiculous man-bag on the ground spoke for itself. Irritated with losing another five minutes of his life explaining how the Gleeks were off limits, Puck cracked his neck and headed toward the dumpster.

Fletcher caught sight of him first; he smacked Ames, who shoved Karofsky and the three took off with all the grace of Keystone Cops. Snorting in disgust, Puck jogged up to the dumpster preparing himself for a volley of shrill complaints. 

He reached into the dumpster and nearly fell back on his ass when Kurt lunged up from the trash. Wide-eyed and frantic, Kurt latched onto the side of the bin like a monkey; his ridiculous treadless shoes slid back into the mess, unable to find purchase on the slick sides.

“What the hell are you doing?” Puck caught one flailing arm. “Chill, man! You having some kind of seizure?” Kurt stilled long enough for Puck to get hold of his other arm. “Look at you,” Puck said reproachfully. “You got spaghetti sauce all over your Dole and Garbanzo shit.”

He smirked and slyly glanced up, looking forward to Kurt’s snippy correction. And if he enjoyed trading barbs with the little drama queen a bit too much? Well, nobody had to know. But he didn’t get a correction, nor did Kurt give that huffy pouty look that he—and Puck—was so fond of.

Instead, Kurt met his gaze, his expression horrified and his eyes swimming in tears. “Find it? Please? I’m afraid to put my feet down; I’ll squish it.” 

Puck glanced warily past Kurt, but didn’t see anything immediately in danger of being squished, so he got his arms under Kurt’s and heaved him out of the dumpster. As soon as Kurt’s feet touched the ground, he turned and threw himself back up onto the dumpster’s rim.

“Okay.” Puck watched incredulously as Kurt leaned in and began swishing through the garbage. “No, really. What the hell is wrong with you? Did you hit your head on the way in?” Puck held his hands up defensively. “That’s not my fault, you know. I told them to back off of you, but they can’t seem to remember that when I’m not shoving it down their—“

“Shush!” Kurt’s voice echoed inside the metal bin. “I can’t hear if you don’t shut up.” Puck’s mouth snapped shut and he stepped up to the dumpster, slightly offended, to be honest. That was grateful for you. Put his rep on the line to save the ass of some fancy-schmancy little—

“Mew.” 

Oh. 

Puck pulled himself up next to Kurt and joined him in rooting through the trash. Kurt let out a soft cry and stilled for a moment before sliding back off of the rim. Puck frowned and glanced back to see Kurt drop down on his ass.

His eyes were huge; his filthy hands clapped over his mouth; tears poured down his cheeks. He was the very picture of horrified misery. Puck warily turned back to the dumpster and shifted a bag out of his way. Lying beneath it, huddled in the lid of a copy paper box, were three small, grey, very still bodies.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hanging his head.

Behind him, Kurt pulled his hands off of his mouth and began to hyperventilate. “Oh, God,” he whimpered. “Oh, God, Puck. I killed them! I crushed them when I landed, and then I just _laid_ there. Oh, God!”

Puck gently picked up the lid, hopped off of the dumpster rim and turned around to meet Kurt’s appalled gaze. Every muscle in Kurt’s form expressed self-loathing and disgust. His hands trembled slightly as he held them up. Puck couldn’t tell if he were reaching out to him or fending him off.

“Oh my God, Puck,” he whispered. “I killed them. What kind of awful person kills kittens?”

Puck hesitantly reached into the lid and ran light, questioning fingers over the littlest kitten body. He sighed in relief, but Kurt wasn’t paying attention. Kurt’s eyes were locked on the lid; there was a wild look in them, as if he were a second away from bolting.

“I didn’t mean to,” Kurt moaned. “I would never…not on purpose…”

“Kurt,” Puck said impatiently.

“I mean, who does that? Who kills kittens on purpose?”

Puck rolled his eyes. “Kurt!”

“Horrible people, that’s who!” Kurt’s face squinched up, as if he were caught between crying and glaring. “Like those assholes that threw me in there, right on top of them! That’s the kind of person who kills kittens!”

“Hummel!” Puck yelled. “Jesus! Will you quite freaking out for a minute and listen to me?”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed. His chin went up and Puck had to stifle a smirk at the huffy and offended look on Kurt’s blotchy, garbage-streaked face.

“Well, excuse me if I—“

“You didn’t kill them, Kurt.”

Kurt blinked his eyes slowly, frowning in confusion. “What?”

Puck shook his head. “You didn’t kill them. They’re cold. They were…gone long before you got there.”

“But…but I heard them.” He pushed himself up onto his knees. “You heard them too, Puck! They were crying in there.” 

Puck couldn’t help but grin at the bewildered uncertainty on the face of someone usually so poised and confident. He shrugged and gently placed the lid on the ground before hauling himself headfirst back into the dumpster.

“It wasn’t them,” he said, his voice muffled. “And if it wasn’t them, then there has to be…aha! Found you!” He pushed up and out of the dumpster, landing on his feet with a triumphant grin, and a tiny bundle of grey fur in his hand.

Kurt pushed himself to his feet and cautiously edged in closer. “Is that—?”

The monotone grey cracked open to reveal big, green, blinking eyes. Then, the kitten yawned, showing off a little red tongue surrounded by tiny, white pointed teeth. The kitten smacked its chops a few times before licking its ruffled left paw. It stopped almost immediately, pulling its head back and giving an indignant sneeze.

“Mew.”

Kurt broke into giggles as the kitten tried in vain to get the taste off of its tongue. Puck grinned and lifted the kitten into the air a bit. Tiny claws scrabbled for purchase while Puck did a quick once-over.

“Mew!”

“Sorry about that, little lady,” Puck chuckled as the kitten eyed him balefully. She held out for a moment, and then humphed back down into Puck’s palm. Puck held her out, his second hand hovering just below to catch her if Kurt didn’t take her.

He wasn’t surprised, however when Kurt reached out and reverently scooped her into his own hands. She blinked up at him and then, apparently satisfied, settled down and began purring.

“Oh!” Kurt breathed, glancing up at Puck.

Puck leaned back against the dumpster with a satisfied smirk, watching as an awed smile spread over Kurt’s face; the lingering moisture sparkled in his eyes, making them seem bigger and brighter. 

Discounting the slightly runny nose and the gunk smeared on still-blotchy skin, Puck thought Kurt was kind of pretty when he cried. He shook his head, forcing himself out of dangerous territory; he attempted to look a bit less like he had just been thinking how adorable Kurt looked burying his face in the kitten’s fur.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, hoping Kurt was too entranced with the kitten to notice the faint blush. “You should both get yourselves cleaned up. You have no idea what kind of germs are in that nasty dumpster.”

He flinched even as the words came out of his mouth. Kurt was most assuredly familiar with exactly what kind of germs lurked in the trash. He’d picked himself up out of it enough times over the years. Puck’s blush deepened into the burn of embarrassment, and he wished wholeheartedly that he could just take that back.

“I…I mean—“

“That’s a good idea,” Kurt agreed distractedly, his eyes taking in each matt of hair and clump of ick in her fur. “I have some baby shampoo at home that will fix you right up, little girl,” he cooed at the kitten. 

Just as Puck thought he had circumvented the huge foot in his mouth, Kurt looked up sharply. Puck sucked in another breath, frantically trying to think of something to defend himself. 

“What about—“ Kurt’s voice faded out, and he darted a glance toward the ground, toward the box.

That last breath whooshed out, and Puck was caught between thankfulness that his mouth hadn’t overloaded his ass, and a sudden need to kiss Kurt’s wibbling chin still. He ignored both temptations and, instead, stepped between Kurt and the box, shielding him from its sad contents.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You take Miss Priss there and have a spa day or a salon makeover or whatever, and I’ll take care of this.”

Kurt’s eyes grew wide again. “You’re not going to—“

“No!” Puck shook his head. “No, I’m not going to just throw them back in. I’ll take them somewhere nice. Bury them properly.” Kurt looked relieved. “Now, go on,” Puck pointed with his chin. “Get out of here.” Kurt nodded slowly and turned toward the parking lot, but then hesitated. He glanced shyly back at Puck and cleared his throat.

“If you’d like to come over when you’re done, I wouldn’t mind,” he said softly.

Puck raised an eyebrow. “You sure you want me interrupting the fussing?”

Kurt shrugged minutely and turned away. “It’s okay. I know you’re already going to get crap for helping me out of the dumpster. I’m sure being seen coming to my house would get you slushed three times come Monday.” He smiled wanly. “I understand.”

Puck frowned and took a step forward. “Yeah, well they can just fuck themselves. I do what I want. And when I’m done with…well, when I’m done, I want to come see how the little lady is doing. You got a problem with that?”

Kurt smiled into the fuzzy little ball in his hands. “No. Not at all.”

“All right, then.” Puck yanked on the tail of his shirt, adjusting it and then rolling his shoulders.

As Puck watched Kurt walk away, smiling shyly and making ridiculous baby talk to the tiny kitten, he realized that being slushed three times on Monday was probably the least of his worries.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck stops by to check on Kurt…er, I mean the kitten.

Puck sat behind the steering wheel staring at the Hummel house. It wasn’t a huge house. It wasn’t small either. He’d seen the outside a dozen times or better. Of course, under the cover of night, hurling eggs, ducking and crouching or looking over one’s shoulder made all the difference in the feel of the place.

In the light of day, it was just a normal house. A normal house with a normal lawn; normal cars parked out front; normal TV dish mounted on the south end; normal people living there.

Except that was the problem. Normal people didn’t live there. Kurt Hummel lived there. Kurt who wore spotless designer clothes—unless he’d been thrown into the trash; Kurt who always had perfect hair and perfect skin—unless his face was streaked with tears and garbage; Kurt who was always poised and confident—unless he was shaking like a leaf, frantic and terrified.

Kurt who glared at, snubbed and insulted him…hated him. But today, Puck remembered shy smiles, addictive giggling, an olive branch in the form of an invitation to Kurt’s home.

Today, instead of wariness and fear and suspicion, Puck saw confidence, trust and…something that had looked a hell of a lot like flirting. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

Their history suggested that Puck let this friendly moment blow over and get things back to status quo. But he didn’t particularly enjoy the status quo. He’d seen something in Kurt today. Something that made his fleeting moments of ‘what if’ tangible. Something he could maybe coax into meaningfulness. Something he didn’t want to throw away.

If he were yesterday’s Puck, or even this morning’s Puck, he’d put this car in gear and back the hell off before his rep was too tattered to salvage. But he wasn’t that Puck anymore. Not after seeing Kurt today. Instead, he had a chance to be honest with himself, and maybe find something unexpectedly great along the way.

He slammed his hand onto the steering wheel, and then for good measure, kicked the floorboard. Then, he grabbed the four damned plastic bags full of crap for the kitten and practically threw himself out of the car. He ran his fingers over his mohawk, and before he could change his mind again, marched up to the front door. He braced himself, and then carefully pressed the doorbell.

When the door opened, he looked up, a greeting on the tip of his tongue, and then he froze. The man standing in front of him was absolutely not Kurt Hummel. Probably not even related to Kurt Hummel. In fact, Kurt Hummel wouldn’t be caught dead within 50 feet of this guy and his beat up old baseball cap and grease stained fingers.

Was he even at the right house?

“Um…I’m here to see Kurt?”

Burt crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, scanning Puck from head to toe, taking in everything from the mohawk to his untied Converse knockoffs. Burt inspected him with such thoroughness that Puck began to shift uncomfortably and sneaked a glance down to verify that he hadn’t grabbed a dirty shirt to put on or left his fly is undone.

He doesn’t think he’s succeeded in being very covert, because when he looked back up, Burt raised one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched. Then Burt was all business again. “You must be the reason that I’m going to end up with cat hair all over everything, my couch clawed to hell and my potted plants pissed in.”

What does a guy say to that?

“Er…yeah?”

“What’s your name, son?”

Son? He can’t plan to kick Puck’s ass if he’s called him son. Can he?

“Puck. Erman! Puckerman, Noah, Noah Puckerman,” he stammered.

The corners of Burt’s mouth began to curl up again and the laser beam eye thing began to fade. Slightly encouraged, Puck continued. “You can call me Puck. O-or Puckerman. Or, you know, Noah…or, um whatever you want to…um, call me. Sir,” he ended weakly.

The mouth curl advanced into a pre-smirk. “Well then, I guess you’d better come in.” Puck smiled back gratefully and clambered through the door, trying not to smack Burt in the junk with the load of kitten goodies.

Then, his plastic bag hooked the doorknob, jerking him back a stop. He attempted to nonchalantly untangle it from the knob, the four other bags and his own fingers without ripping the plastic or pinching off an extremity. When he was finally successful, he looked up again, face hot with embarrassment. Burt wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement.

Puck smiled feebly. “I’m not usually so…” Puck waved a vaguely all-encompassing hand.

“Nervous?” Burt offered generously.

“I was going to go with spastic,” Puck muttered. Burt snorted and shut the door behind him. “Thanks, Mr. Hummel,” Puck nodded, furtively trying to get the bag unwound off his purpling fingers. Burt snorted again and wryly shook his head. Puck was sure that it was impossible for a face to burn as hotly as his was and not actually burst into flames.

“You can call me Burt.” Puck froze. Really? He didn’t even call his cougars by their first names. Though, to be honest, he didn’t really call them much at all. Who needed words?  
And was he really standing here, in Kurt Hummel’s house, staring at Kurt’s dad and thinking about banging some chick Burt probably went to school with?

He was sure that opening his mouth to say anything at all would be verbal suicide at this point. So, he just smiled and nodded, hoping he didn’t look like some malfunctioning bobblehead. Burt took pity on him and didn’t go there.

“Kurt’s downstairs. I have no idea how he thinks he’s going to get a cat to take a bath, but its been almost an hour and he hasn’t come running up here shredded to pieces yet, so he must be doing something right.”

Puck nodded his thanks and followed Burt’s pointing finger down a set of carpeted stairs, relieved when he moved out of the older man’s sight. Before he was halfway down, he could hear the perkily annoying music of what had to be some Broadway show tune. He banged his way through the door and dropped his semi-sentient plastic bags in the first chair he came to.

Kurt glanced up from the wet kitten and, when he saw Puck, his face lit up. Puck managed a lopsided grin, and then dropped his gaze somewhere safer. As pre-Glee Puck, Kurt had given him glares, frowns, his down-his-nose diva look. He’d even seen fear a time or two. But never happiness. So, when confronted with Kurt’s brilliant smile, he suddenly felt out of his depth, as if he were seeing something secret.

“Hi,” he said, ducking his head and running a nervous hand over his mohawk.

“Hi.” Kurt returned to toweling the kitten dry with careful, gentle pats. With Kurt’s attention focused elsewhere, Puck’s ability to speak more than one word at a time returned.

“So, your dad let me in.”

“Yeah? Did he behave himself?” Kurt’s smile turned fond.

“Oh, um, sure. He was fine. Great, really. He, uh, he thinks I’m retarded, though.” Really? Did he really just say that? Puck mentally thwacked the back of his own head, but Kurt just gave a delicate snort and nodded.

“He did his intimidation thing, didn’t he?”

“No! He didn’t—I wasn’t—“ Kurt looked at him through the curtain of his eyelashes and raised a single eyebrow. Much like his dad had done. Puck sighed. “Okay, yeah. A little.”  
Kurt smiled and set the towel aside, reaching for a comb.

“I thought you might have changed your mind about coming over,” he said, quietly enough that Puck almost didn’t hear him.

“After I found a good spot to—“ Kurt flinched slightly, and Puck backpedaled. “Um, for the others, I ran by the house to change. Then, on the way over, I saw one of those pet stores and stopped to get some stuff for the Little Lady.”

Puck thought that if Kurt didn’t stop flashing that brilliant smile at him, there was a good chance his legs might give out. Just in case, he edged closer and took a seat on the carpet to watch the proceedings.

He could see the remnants of a bath experience, but no signs that there had been an epic battle. Regardless, he was with Burt on this one. He’d tried to wash his aunt Ruth’s cat when he was four. He’d carried the scars of that poor choice until he was nearly 10. But the rescued kitten in Kurt’s hands was actually purring as Kurt ran the comb through her fur. Once he’d gotten it all straightened out, he picked up the smallest hair dryer Puck had ever seen.

“That’s going to freak her out,” Puck warned.

Kurt shook his head. “She’s been a very good girl, haven’t you pretty one?” He dropped a light kiss on her wet head and whispered googly nonsense at her. Her little kitten purr revved up and she reached out to bat Kurt’s nose with a gentle, unclawed paw.

Puck squirmed and bit his lip to keep any hint of an entirely unmasculine squeal from being heard. Kurt had no such inhibitions, and he hit a note that was at least three notes above that stupid high F. Kurt sat back up, fiddled with a knob and then pointed the dryer away before turning it on.

The kitten tensed, and her purr hitched for a moment, but when Kurt continued to pet her, she returned to her previous boneless state. Kurt lifted a hunk of wet hair up with the comb and carefully ran the blow dryer over it. Another hitch in the purr and then the kitten seemed to just settle in to enjoy it.

It was almost hypnotic, watching Kurt repeating the combing and drying until her fur was clean, shiny and fluffy and laid just so. Puck lost track of everything but the flash of Kurt’s pale, slender fingers deftly manipulating each chunk of fur. When Burt’s voice called down the stairs, he twitched hard enough to feel something pull tight in his back, and lurched guiltily to his feet. Kurt stared at him with wide, bewildered eyes and Puck forced out a flat, fake laugh.

“Your dad,” he said, pointing unnecessarily toward the ceiling.

Kurt nodded slowly, “Yeah, dad?” He raised his voice but left his confused gaze on Puck  
Burt came down the stairs, boots clomping on each step.

“You boys hungry? I’m gonna order pizza.” Burt’s head finally appeared below the opening and he paused, looking from Puck to Kurt and back.

“Mr., uh—Burt, um—sir,” Puck raised a hand in greeting and took another step away from Kurt. “We were just, um…well—“

“Cleaning up the cat?” There went that damn eyebrow again. Puck darted a glance at Kurt and found the eyebrow in stereo.

“Er, yeah. That.” They stood in silence for long seconds, Puck fidgeting until he finally put his hands in his back pockets to keep them still. Kurt and Burt traded unreadable looks and then Burt broke the silence.

“So, the pizza. Standing order’s a supreme and one of those damn rabbit salads. You want the pizza or the salad?”

Puck frowned. “You order out for pizza and pick a salad?” he asked incredulously.

Burt snorted. “That’s what I’ve been telling him.”

Kurt huffed and turned back to brushing the kitten’s fur. “Don’t hate because I don’t want clogged arteries and a fat ass.”

Burt rolled his eyes. “God forbid we have to buy bigger sizes of the 200 pairs of pants you own.”

Kurt somehow managed to look down his nose, even though he was on the floor. “That implies that I’d wear last season’s pants, dad. I’d actually have to buy 200 new ones in a bigger size.”

Burt waved his hands in surrender, “Fine, fine. I get it. You’ll be shopping all day tomorrow at the mall.”

Kurt hmphed and got to his feet with a smile to put the hair and bath implements away. Burt leaned against the wall, watching his son with fond exasperation. Puck felt his gut clench the tiniest bit. Even sniping at one another, there was no mistaking the shared affection.

Puck loved his mom, and knew that she loved him. But she didn’t really know a damn thing about him. Not for the last few years, at least. And if she knew even half of the shit he was made of now….

But Burt knew his son. Not just the gay thing, but also the kind of clothes he wore and what he had for dinner. How far to push a joke and when to just let Kurt be Kurt. Puck gave a melancholy sigh, and came back to himself to see Burt watching him thoughtfully. He smirked half-heartedly. “The price you pay for beauty,” he joked—unconvincingly, apparently, because the eyebrow came up again.

“I suppose,” Burt agreed. “So, I take it you prefer the pizza?”

“Sure. Pizza’s fine. Thanks, Mr.—Burt…sir.”

Burt snorted and turned, clomping back up the stairs. Puck pulled a hand out of his pocket to wipe over his face, sighing in disgust.

“Mr. Burt, Sir?” Kurt smirked, coming back from the bathroom. “Are you going to bow next?” He walked past Puck, pushing the kitten against Puck’s chest. Puck scrambled to get his other hand out of his pocket and around her before he dropped her. Kurt just kept walking for the stairs, trusting that Puck wouldn’t drop her.

“Come along, Jeeves,” he called back. “I surely can’t be expected to serve myself.” Puck lifted the kitten up to eye level, and she peered at him through sleepy lids. 

“Your mommy is kind of a bitch,” he said. The kitten’s purr intensified and she reached out with a clawless paw to gently bat Puck on the nose. A slow smile appeared on Puck’s face, and he tucked her up under his chin for the trip up the stairs. “Yeah," he murmured. "I kind of like him, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner.

Before sitting down to eat, Puck took off his flannel and piled it onto a chair, then put the kitten on it. She kneaded it and then settled down for a nap. Offering the pizza box to Puck, Burt asked, “So, I’m assuming you go to McKinley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, you have classes with Kurt?”

Puck hesitated. He actually had no idea if he had classes with Kurt. He was about to just admit it, when, “Yeah, dad. We have Spanish and Math.” Kurt finished for him. Puck smiled an embarrassed thank you.

“We also do Glee and football together.”

Burt perked up. “Football? What position?”

“I’m a running back.”

“Number 20,” Kurt pipes in. Burt and Puck exchange amused looks, as Kurt inserted what was no doubt one of the very few things he knew about their football team.

Burt raised eyebrows. “Hey, you were the one who tied up that first game Kurt played in.”

“Yes, sir.” Puck ducked his head and took a big bite of pizza. He’d acted like a little bitch that game, and he hoped Burt had been too distracted by Kurt’s winning point to notice.

“You left pretty quick, as I remember.”

Okay. So, no such luck there.

“Yes, sir. I was dealing with…some stuff.”

Burt hmm’d, giving Puck a curious look before picking up his own piece.

“Kurt may play football, but he sure won’t sit through it. I’m planning on watching the game on ESPN tomorrow. Starts at three. Wouldn’t mind the company, if you’re interested.”

Puck’s jaw dropped and Kurt’s grossed out “Ew!” reminded him that he needed to swallow. He gulped the bite, grabbing for his water as it got stuck on the way down.

Finally, mouth empty, he nodded fiercely. “That’d be great, Mr., uh, Burt. My mom isn’t so into football either, and I don’t get a chance to watch many games at home.”

Burt gave the first real smile Puck had seen. “My Mary was like that. She hated football. I used to pretend to break the lawn mower every week so I could stop off and watch bits and pieces of the game at the bar.”

Burt rolled his eyes. “Course, she always knew. I’m a mechanic. The likelihood of me breaking the damn thing every single week…but she would just give me a kiss and tell me to be back soon….” He faded into silence.

Wide-eyed and leaning forward, Kurt stared intensely at Burt. Puck thought he might even be holding his breath. When Burt didn’t offer anything further, Kurt smiled sadly and dropped his eyes, picking through his salad.

Puck watched Burt shoot a pained look at his son’s lowered head and quickly averted his eyes, grabbing another piece from the box. “My dad was a baseball fan, actually,” he offered. 

“I remember my mom getting so pis—mad on the weekends. She’d vacuum the living room like, five times, and then have to dust the TV after every time. “After he left, she didn’t really dust so much anymore. My sister and I would draw stupid faces in the dust on the screen.” 

He looked up, trying to force his mouth into a smile. He figured it looked more like baring his teeth when Kurt reached out and gave Puck’s hand a gentle pat. But at least Kurt understood that he wasn’t alone in the loss of a parent club.

Burt nodded once, a quiet, dignified gratitude in his second real smile.  
“Well, if dad is going to monopolize your time on Sunday,” Kurt pointed his fork at Puck, “You should come shopping with me on Saturday.” Puck chuckled uneasily, trying to think of a polite way to tell Kurt that the idea of wasting a whole day shopping was akin to nightmarish for him. Nervously, his eyes slid over to Burt. Burt quirked up one side of his mouth, and then cleared his throat.

“Son, no red-blooded male wants to spend the day trailing after a ‘powershopper’.”

Kurt frowned and Puck saw his lower lip protrude a fraction. “You’ve come shopping with me, so it can’t be that horrible.”

Burt barked out a laugh. “The last time I took you to the mall, you were 13, and I spent six hours warming the seat of every bench and chair on every floor. I was assigned the important job of holding your stupid manbag and hoping no one would arrest me for pedophilia every time you asked if something made your ass look good.”

Puck laughed while trying to swallow, and choked on his pizza. He started coughing, and ended up slumped over the table, wheezing in mirth and wiping tears out of his eyes. Kurt’s tiny moue of irritation was both hilarious and adorable. Puck was torn between high-fiving Burt and pinching Kurt’s angry little cheek.

“Hmph. Well, fine,” Kurt carefully crossed one leg over the other and took a delicate bite of his salad. He narrowed his eyes at his unconcerned father and chewed slowly. “It’s truly sad,” he continued. “But, if you want to abrade the skin off of your back with those hideous flannel shirts you get from Target, I certainly can’t stop you.”

“Well, really, it’s only my arms that suffer, son. I wear these nifty T-shirts under the flannel.” He plucked the offending material. “Good old Hanes.”

Kurt actually shuddered.

Puck couldn’t resist. “So, Burt, did you get those Hanes at Target, too?” He tilted his head and furrowed his brow.

“Why, yes, I did.” Burt nodded seriously.

“I got mine from Wal Mart,” Puck choked out, weakly grasping his own T-shirt to hold out for Burt’s grave examination. “Three for $10!” He lost it and, though he would never in a million years admit it, dissolved into giggles. Burt guffawed, reaching over to slap him on the back, and a warm, comfortable feeling poured through Puck.

Kurt huffed. “Fine. I get it. It’s all for the best anyway. By the end of the day, I’d either have committed homicide or suicide.”

Puck settled down, but still couldn’t pry the grin off of his face. “Why don’t I just meet you somewhere for lunch?”

Kurt’s body gave a minute jerk.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Puck felt his smile slide away. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Kurt’s hand fluttered briefly in the air over his salad. “I guess I just didn’t really think you’d say yes.”

Puck frowned. “If you didn’t want me to come, then why did you even suggest it?”

“No!” Kurt’s hand twitched toward Puck. Puck couldn’t tell if Kurt was warding him off or trying to make him stay. He realized it was disturbingly like the gesture Kurt had made when unsure if the kitten was alive or dead. 

“No, I wanted you to come. I _want_ you to come.” Kurt’s eyes slid sideways to glance at his dad before he continued. “I just figured you wouldn’t want to risk being seen with me.”

Puck dropped his pizza slice back onto his plate. “What the hell? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes,” Kurt hedged. “But you have to admit, there’s a lot of difference between sitting with me at my kitchen table and being seen with me in public.”

Burt carefully placed his half-eaten piece of pizza on his plate and slowly picked up his napkin. He concentrated on worrying at that stubborn bit of tomato sauce under his thumbnail.

“Wow!” Puck leaned back in his chair; muscles coiled tensely, admiration coloring his voice. “You really think I’m a dick, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t!” Kurt hesitated. “Okay, well I _did_ \--” 

Puck’s body exploded into movement. He shoved his chair away from the table and launched to his feet. Kurt unwittingly flinched away and Burt discreetly moved to intercept should Puck get anymore physical.

“Well, you kind of were!” Kurt defended himself, his voice going shrill. “But, I don’t think that now.”

Puck laughed humorlessly. “Well, I’d say you obviously still do, or it wouldn’t be such a goddamned surprise that I want to spend time with you.”

No!” Kurt protested again. “It’s not like that. I don’t think that of you. I just don’t want you to be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“Jesus, Hummel!” Puck threw his hands in the air. “It’s not like I’m gonna bend you over and fuck you on the escalator handrail. I just wanted to have a goddamned burger with you!”

Kurt’s face pinked, and his eyes slid to his dad again. Then, his jaw clenched and his hands closed into fists on the table. “Well, you can hardly blame me, Noah Puckerman. Until 3 o’clock today, I was still wondering whether you’d decide to slush me on Monday with grape or cherry!”

“Fuck you, Hummel!” Puck leaned in and jabbed a finger at Kurt. “I haven’t slushed you in weeks.”

Kurt’s nostrils flared and, rather than flinching away, he jumped to his feet as well and put his own finger in Puck’s face. Burt shook his head and crossed his arms, settling back in his chair.

“And you haven’t thrown me in the dumpster, lately, either. Or shoved me into a locker, or tried to give me a patriotic wedgie!”

Burt’s forehead crinkled and he mouthed the words ‘patriotic wedgie’? But Kurt was no longer even aware Burt was there.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did do those things. Several _dozen_ times over the last few years. Forgive me if I don’t rush off to suck your dick because you were nice to me for four hours!”

Burt blinked slowly, trying to get that image out of his head, but Puck wasn’t nearly as thrown.

“Hey! Four hours? I’ve been nice to you longer than four hours. I made the guys stop slushing you, and the rest of Glee, too. And, I told them I’d kick their ass if they trash canned you again,” Puck finished smugly.

“And yet, where was I four hours ago?” Kurt smiled sweetly, putting a finger to his lips. “Oh, wait!” He yanked his finger away from his lips and jabbed it into Puck’s chest. “I was in the fucking dumpster, laying on dead animals and yesterday’s mayonnaise!”

Burt’s nose wrinkled and he made a mental note that he might not want to know that whole story.

“That’s not fair!” Puck smacked Kurt’s finger off of his chest. “I didn’t put you there. I was the one who fished you out, remember?”

Kurt snatched his hand away from Puck. “And yet, the fact remains that people like me will always end up thrown into dumpsters by people like you. No one is going to wave the rainbow banner for us, Noah. No one is going to slap you on the back and elbow-nudge you. No one is going to giggle with me at our lockers. No one _wants_ to see us together.”

“Fuck you, Hummel,” Puck said through gritted teeth.

Kurt snorted. “Yes, you’ve already said that. And, no thank you, but I don’t think I will. When I have sex for the first time, I’d like to just be fucked physically, not mentally or emotionally!”

Puck’s head jerked back as though Kurt had actually slapped him, and his mouth opened and closed, helplessly. Shaking his head, he raised his arms and linked his hands behind his neck, squeezing shut his eyes as he did so. His nostrils flared widely as he sucked in deep, calming breaths.

“You,” Puck said after a moment, opening his eyes, “Are a bigot, Hummel.”

“Excuse me?” Kurt’s voice went shrill again. “Gay here, dumbass!”

“Exactly,” Puck nodded, dropping his hands back to his sides. “You’re gay and you don’t like anybody who doesn’t immediately throw off their jockstrap and hoist that goddamned rainbow flag. It’s all or nothing with you. There’s no room in your tiny, bigoted world for someone who’s just not sure what they are yet. And no one can change in your fucked up little world, either.”

“Tha--”

“No!” Puck cut him off with a roar. “You get to listen, now! Was I a dick? Yes. Did I do shitty things to you? Yeah, I did. Then I started that goddamned club, and it’s like I saw you for the first time.” 

He ran his hand over his face, tugging on his chin in frustration as he pulled his hand away. “I don’t know why I stopped wanting to punch you in your snotty, diva-bitch face and started thinking it was cute. I don’t know when I stopped laughing at your clothes, and started thinking about how good you looked in them. 

“Okay? I don’t know. But I did. I changed. I _can_ change, Kurt. I’m not just a fucking one-dimensional cardboard cutout. You want me to get that you have feelings, Kurt? That I hurt you? Yeah, well, I get it. I hurt you. And I’m sorry. Just you don’t forget that the rest of us have feelings, too.”

Puck rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes and the bridge of his nose, and they came away suspiciously wet. He turned in Burt’s direction, but couldn’t seem to force his eyes up to meet Burt’s.

“Thank you for dinner, Mr. Hummel,” he said, one step above a whisper. “Sorry for the freak out.”

He gave a final, jerky half-nod and leaned over to smooth the kitten’s fur down. Then he strode to the door. He didn’t slam it. He just opened it, walked through and gently shut it again. Moments later, they could hear his car start up and then drive away.

Kurt couldn’t tear his eyes off of the door. He dropped into his seat like a puppet with cut strings; his face pale and hands listlessly lying on his lap. “What just happened, Dad?” he whispered.

Burt scooted over and hooked an arm around Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt came willingly when he pulled, crushing his face into Burt’s old, worn flannel. He sat still and quiet for a moment, and then Burt felt the first sob jerk out of Kurt’s body.

Burt had no idea what to say. Or what to do, for that matter. He could only pull Kurt closer, his own eyes burning in a way they hadn’t since Mary had died. He murmured stupid, nonsensical shushing sounds as he slowly rocked Kurt. 

He had never missed his wife more than at this moment, when their precious son was breaking apart inside and Burt had no idea how to fix him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath.

Puck drove by the house every day. Sometimes, Burt would catch sight of him two or three times on the weekend. But, he didn’t tell Kurt. Puck always sped up when Burt made eye contact with him, anyway, and Kurt already moped enough around the house. He didn’t want Kurt to escalate to sitting by the window all day in the hope of catching a fleeting glimpse.

Sometimes, when Burt came home later than usual, he would see Puck parked across the street and down a couple of houses. He supposed that Puck could be stalking Kurt, and he probably should have put a stop it. But Puck never ventured closer to the house, and something just didn’t feel right about sending the boy away.

Lately, Burt made a point of asking each evening how Kurt’s day had been. He’d made perfunctory attempts before, but when Kurt’s day consisted of a whirlwind of clothes, beauty products and Glee dance demonstrations, Burt admitted that he sort of tuned Kurt out.

He’d nod at the right spots, and smile when something made Kurt excited, but he generally experienced the whole interaction with glazed eyes. And he always left with the sense that he’d barely gotten out alive.

He realized after the argument, Kurt didn’t share a hell of a lot of things about school with him. Whether from humiliation, or worry that Burt would kick the living shit out of the next kid to pick on him, Kurt heavily edited his reports.

It shamed Burt to know that his personal escape mechanism contributed to Kurt’s pain. But his boy was smart. And he knew his old man; knew exactly what kind of bubble-headed trivial crap would send Burt running and keep him from asking the real questions.

But no more. Burt spent every dinner quizzing Kurt on the real happenings of his day. At the first sign of ditzy babble, Burt turned the tables and told Kurt about his own day. 

He nearly laughed out loud the first time he saw Kurt’s eyes glaze over. “So,” he asked, “You want to talk about what really happened today?” Kurt’s raised eyebrow told him that his boy knew exactly what was going on, but Kurt grudgingly went along with it anyway.

At first, he tried to punish Burt with brutally honesty. After seeing his father bow his head to surreptitiously wipe his eyes, however, he couldn’t continue. So, he glossed over the worst of it. 

Not even that could keep the pinched, pained look off of his father’s face, but to his credit, Burt came back for more every night; nothing would ever put him in the dark about his son again.

More than a few times, Burt wanted to break heads, but Kurt was adamant about Burt staying out of it. He swore he’d never say another word about school for the next two years if Burt interfered.

And so Burt listened. And Burt fumed. And Burt’s heart broke a dozen times a day. But Burt kept his word and let the truth show him what an amazing son he had. Kurt might have been Princess Foo-Foo from Fairyland, but Burt had never met a stronger human being. 

Kids called Kurt names Burt couldn’t have imagined throwing at hard-core criminals, much less a 16-year-old boy. Kids did things to Kurt that, had they been done to an adult on the street, would have landed those kids with prison sentences. And Kurt just rolled his eyes and let it all slide off of his back.

Which was how Burt knew that this thing with Puck was huge. The mention of Puck’s name could send Kurt into a morose funk that lasted for hours. Including Puck in a general Glee conversation, or as an interaction with Kurt’s other friends, brought tears and often found Kurt fleeing to another room until he got himself back under control.

So, this was what forced Burt away from his traditional ‘glance down the street at Puck’s car, shake his head and walk into the house’ routine. And he wondered. If Puck were spending the largest part of his free time waiting outside the Hummel house …who was listening to him?

Who did Puck turn to when he just needed to cry it out, or vent? Was it whomever shared Puck’s successes with him? Or did he not have anyone to tell those to, either?

Thoughts spinning though his head like angry, buzzing bees, Burt turned right instead of left and headed for Puck’s car. He could see Puck sit up straighter when he caught sight of Burt’s approach. He watched the boy briefly panic, but that died just as quickly as it had begun. Burt saw all of the fight drain out of him, even from 30 feet away.

Puck didn’t make another effort to retreat, even when Burt opened the passenger door and slid inside. He didn’t say anything either, letting Burt settle himself comfortably in the seat. Then, they sat in silence for long minutes.

Several brightly colored CD cases piled in the console between seats caught Burt’s attention. He fished through them, finding a few familiar names, some not so familiar, and some that made him wonder whom they bribed to get to use that name in public. 

His fingers paused over a shiny, bright new case, and he pulled it out for closer inspection. _Ultimate Broadway_. He shook his head wryly. Maybe this was going to be a bit easier than he thought.

“He misses you, son.”

Puck flinched.

“I don’t know how much time you two actually spent together before, or exactly what happened that night.” Puck opened his mouth, but Burt raised a hand before he could get a sound out. 

“And I don’t really want to know. Though, someday, I may ask you what the hell a patriotic wedgie is.” Puck rewarded him with a faint smile, but it slid away quickly.

“Whatever the situation, something changed that day. Definitely for Kurt, and I suspect,” he glanced critically at Puck’s sunken eyes and thinner face, “something changed for you, too.

“Now, I’m the first to admit, there are times when I’d like to burn his collection of those damn show tunes. And days when I swear I’ll cut his credit card in half if he comes home with one more goddamned pink scarf, but all of that is just Kurt. It makes him Kurt.”

Burt shrugged helplessly. “I don’t always understand him. Hell, I rarely understand him. But, I love my son. And the boy who’s been sleepwalking around the house these past few weeks is not my son.”

Burt turned marginally to see Puck’s face. “He sits on the couch everyday with that snooty cat you scraped off, and watches _Deadliest Catch_ with me.” He leaned forward a bit, forcing Puck to meet his eyes.

“Do you know what that is, son? It’s a show about dead fish. Dead fish and scruffy men, and not a one of those poofy loofer things on a string that are hanging from every damn faucet I own.”

Puck gave a glimmer of a smile, and Burt sat back a bit. “He doesn’t think I know, but he sleeps in that shirt you left.” Puck’s head dropped. “Now I know I probably don’t understand half of what’s going on, son. But--”

“Don’t call me that,” Puck whispered hoarsely.

Burt’s forehead crinkled. “Don’t call you what, son?”

“That!” Puck jerked his head toward Burt. “Don’t call me son. If you knew….” He huffed his breath out in a quick sigh and turned to face the driver’s side window. “If you knew anything about me, you’d know I don’t deserve that.”

“Why wouldn’t you deserve being called son?” Burt asked gently.

“Cause I’m an asshole.” Puck didn’t give the words any special inflection, but Burt heard worlds of emotion, anyway. “I’ve done some seriously shitty things,” Puck continued. “Things that hurt people. Things that wrecked people’s lives. I’m just--” His voice cracked and he fell silent for a moment. Burt waited patiently. “I just don’t deserve it, okay?” Puck concluded. 

“Even my father didn’t think I deserved it.” He gave a harsh laugh. “He shot out of there as fast as he could when he found out about me. If even my own father—There’s just something wrong with me.”

Burt nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose there is,” he agreed.

Puck cringed against his door. Knowing it for himself and hearing it from a man he respected were two painfully different things.

Burt sighed. “What’s wrong with you, son, is that you had an asshole for a father.” He laid his hand lightly on Puck’s shoulder. “You got lost. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be someone’s son. That just means you need it more than most.” 

He shook his head. “You’re just a boy. You’re supposed to make stupidassed mistakes, son. That’s kind of your job.”

Puck squeezed his eyes shut against the burning and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. Burt rolled his eyes. “Come here, you idiot.” He pushed his hand further along Puck’s shoulder blade and pulled him over the console into a hug.

“You know,” he huffed, “Out of the three of us, I’m not actually the gay one.” Puck gasped out a pained laugh against Burt’s chest. The second gasp turned into something else, leaving him clutching tightly to Burt’s well-worn, old flannel. Burt held on tightly, making shushing noises while Puck’s shoulders shook helplessly.

Not for the first time, Burt wished Mary were here. She would have been so much better at this. She could have had this whole damn mess fixed weeks ago. But, bumbling idiot or not, as he held tight while Puck fell apart, he thought Mary would have approved, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting it off of his chest.

“Come inside, son,” Burt murmured against Puck’s stubbly head. “Come inside and talk to me.”

Puck pulled out of Burt’s arms, sniffing and wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. He shook his head minutely. “I don’t…I shouldn’t…Kurt--”

“You just let me deal with Kurt,” Burt interrupted. “It’d do the boy good to see that he’s not the only one who got messed up.” Puck hesitated even as he shot a longing look toward the house. “Or you could just drive us back to your house, and we can talk there.”

Puck’s eyes widened and he shook his head harder. “No! No, sir. I guess I can come in.” Burt gave a single nod and got out of the car. Puck was slower, trailing behind Burt the whole length to the house. Burt stopped at the step and waited for Puck to catch up before opening the door.

He turned the door handle and pushed it open, stepping back to allow Puck through first. Hesitantly, Puck moved into the house. Of course, the first thing he saw was Kurt on the couch, kitten in his lap.

Burt took his time hanging up his coat in the closet, ignoring how Kurt jumped to his feet. Puck took an involuntary step back, bumping into Burt as he turned around. Burt met his son’s eyes and tried not to wince at the look of betrayal on Kurt’s face.

“What is he doing here?” Kurt demanded, clutching the kitten to his chest like a shield. 

Puck stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched in on himself. “I—I can just go,” he said softly, addressing the floor.

“Kurt,” Burt said, calmly. “Noah is here to talk.”

Kurt shifted the kitten to one arm and put the other one on his hip. “Oh, really?” he challenged.

“Yeah, really.” Burt met the challenge head on. “He’s here to talk to me, though, so feel free to go back to whatever you…weren’t doing.”

Kurt’s eyes widened.

Burt raised an eyebrow.

Kurt narrowed his eyes.

Burt crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to the side.

Kurt pursed his lips, and shot a look at Puck. 

Puck continued regarding the floor as if it held some all-powerful secret.

“Fine.” He tossed his head regally and, with a small hmph, threw himself back onto the couch. The landing disturbed the kitten and, after opening one baleful eye, she rolled onto her other side and fell back asleep.

“Good,” Burt returned, turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll get us something to drink. Come on in when you’re ready.” He patted Puck on the shoulder and disappeared into the other room.

Puck carefully looked up through his lashes. Kurt stared sulkily in whatever direction that Puck wasn’t. This was the first time in weeks that Puck was able to get a good look at Kurt. 

They might have had two classes together, but there were oceans between Puck’s side of the room and Kurt’s. Football was over, and now that they’d won sectionals, Glee was on an unofficial hiatus. The next practice wasn’t scheduled until some time in early spring.

Once Puck started looking, he couldn’t stop. Kurt had faint circles under his eyes. He looked tired. Stray pieces of his bangs fell onto his forehead, bereft of perfection without constant fussing. His part wasn’t that entirely straight either, and if Puck weren’t mistaken, Kurt had a breakout up by his hairline.

Puck felt something painful tighten in his chest.

Kurt couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned his head to see what Puck was doing, and when he met Puck’s eyes, his chin tilted up in defiance.

Puck couldn’t help but smile. Even exhausted and poorly put together, Kurt was still fucking adorable.

“What? What are you laughing at?” Kurt frowned, unconsciously raising a hand to his hair.

Puck just shook his head, the tightness in his chest easing. His smile grew. “Hi,” he said softly.

Kurt looked startled. He clearly wasn’t expecting that. “Hi,” he returned, warily.

Puck felt a laugh bubbling up. He wanted to cross the room and kiss that look off Kurt’s face. “I missed you,” he said hoarsely.

Kurt’s eyes widened slightly, and Puck saw something soften in his face. Kurt crossed his right leg over his left and grasped his kneecap. He looked down his nose at Puck, and Puck had never seen him look so perfect. 

“Of course you did,” Kurt said, loftily. “I’m very missable.”

Puck nodded. “Yeah, you are,” he whispered.

“You want orange or apple juice, son?” Burt’s voice jarred Puck out of the dopey daze he’d fallen into.

“Orange, please,” he called back, unable to tear his gaze from Kurt’s. Kurt’s cheeks flushed a light pink, and he ducked his head, a shy smile creeping across his lips.

“I’d better get in there before he changes his mind about helping me out,” Puck said reluctantly.

Kurt looked back up and nodded. “Yeah. Sure, go ahead.” He gave Puck a small but real smile, his cheeks still stained pink. It took every ounce of Puck’s willpower to just turn around and walk into the kitchen. 

Kurt stared, lost in thought, at the empty doorway. He reached out to absently pick the kitten up. She meowed questioningly, and Kurt held her up to face level. A rumbly purr broke out, and she stretched out a tiny paw to bat gently at Kurt’s nose.

A smile slowly spread over his face. “Come on, little girl,” he said, climbing to his feet. “We have company, and it won’t do to have mommy looking anything but gorgeous.” The kitten yawned and smacked her lips.

“Yes, I know.” He headed down the stairs. “I don’t have a thing to wear, either, but we don’t have time for retail therapy right now. So, we’ll have to make do with what’s in our closets. And maybe the guest room closets….”  
_____________________________

Puck was still smiling when he entered the kitchen. Burt raised an eyebrow and Puck shrugged shyly. Burt nodded, satisfied. He set two glasses of orange juice on the table and pulled out a chair.

“Okay, son. Have a seat and let’s have a talk.” He hated watching the happiness fall away from Puck’s face, but Puck sat down obediently, anyway. He reached out to fiddle with his glass.

Long moments passed where Puck spinning the glass between his hands was only the sound. Then he sighed. “I don’t even know where to begin, Mr. Hummel--”

“Burt.”

Puck glanced up and smiled faintly. “Okay. Burt.”

“Start at the beginning,” Burt suggested.

Puck gave a gasp of laughter. “I don’t think you want to go back that far into my fu—messed up childhood.”

Casually, Burt took a drink from his glass and shrugged. “If that’s where it starts, then yes, I do.”

“I don’t really know where it starts.” Puck emptied a hand to rub the back of his neck. “It wasn’t like one morning I woke up and thought, ‘hey, you’re kind of an asshole’.”

“So, start when you first noticed that you were acting like an asshole.” 

“Right,” Puck whispered. He pulled his second hand up to join the first one, linking his fingers. “When I first noticed. I…um, I got--” his voice cracked, and he halted. He lowered his head, pulling his linked hands up further around his skull, pinning it protectively between his forearms.

“I got a girl pregnant,” he finally choked out. He traced the grain of the table with his eyes, unable to look up to see the disappointment on Burt’s face.

Burt blinked. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, blew it out completely and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Well, I won’t argue with you. That does kind of suck. But, it’s not the end of the world, son.”

Puck sighed, and his head came up off of the table. Still avoiding Burt’s gaze, he leaned back to stare at the ceiling. “She’s my best friend’s girl.” There was silence again for a moment.

“O—kay,” Burt said slowly. “Okay, so we have a little hiccup--”

“She lied to him. Told him the baby is his,” Puck interrupted. “They hadn’t even had sex, yet,” Puck rolled his eyes. “She told him she got pregnant when he shot his load in the hot tub.”

He finally managed to bring his gaze down to look at Burt. “I mean, I love him, man. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, but goddamn. He’s not even bright enough to figure out how babies are made. And I’m supposed to just sit back and let him raise my daughter?”

Burt wiped a hand over his mouth and sat back. “Well, I can see your point. But you have a right to a say in how she’s raised, too.”

Puck shook his head. “Quinn said she’d never tell Finn, cause I’d make a shitty dad.” He reached out to absently spin his glass again. “I asked her to be with me,” he said plaintively. “I told her I’d take care of her and the baby. Told her neither one of them would ever have to ask for anything again. I’d turn the world upside down for them.” 

Burt’s mouth curved gently. “It sounds to me, son, like you’d make a pretty good dad.”

“But it didn’t matter!” Puck turned painfilled eyes back to the table. “She said it wasn’t good enough. _I_ wasn’t good enough. I never seem to be good enough.”

Burt wished he were less of a gentleman, because he really wanted to go slap the stupid out of that girl. He had to settle with a fist thump on the table. The sound made Puck jump. “You _are_ good enough, son. I don’t want to hear that out of you again.”

Puck searched Burt’s face for a moment, and then gave a small smile. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Now, does this Finn fellow know?”

Puck barked a short laugh. “Oh, hell yeah. Some chick with the hots for him blew that right out of the water.”

“And how’d he take that?”

“Oh, the usual, I suppose.” Puck picked the glass up and ran his finger through the condensation left on the table. “He yelled a lot; punched me in the face; broke up with Quinn. She cried a lot and promised me that she’d never let me see my daughter.”

“So, business as usual?” Burt raised his brows.

Puck tossed him a weak grin. “Yeah. So, that’s that. The whole fu—messed up thing.”

Burt chuckled. “No, son. You’re right. That’s pretty fucked up. So, now what? The question here is: what do you want to do now that she’s given you free reign to walk away?

“I don’t love her. I don’t think I ever really did,” Puck replied. “She was just there, you know? Kind of like why that one guy climbed up that mountain. She doesn’t want me, and that’s fine with me. But I’m not going to leave her dangling with nothing.” He shook his head.

“Her bastard parents kicked her out of her house. Now Finn’s dumped her. She’s broke, she’s lost most of her friends and she’s fricking pregnant. I’m an asshole, but goddamn…I’m not an _asshole_.”

Burt discreetly smirked behind a nose scratch. 

“I may not love her, but I—I totally love my daughter. And I haven’t even seen her. Weird, huh?” He stared out the window across from the table, not really seeing it at all.

“No, son,” Burt gently assured him. “I don’t think it’s weird at all.” Puck broke off his absent stare to smile at Burt.

“Thanks. So, then along comes Glee Club. Glee made things weird for me. And just when I thought I might get it all under control, in flounces Kurt.” He shrugged helplessly. 

“I’d spent most of my life pretty sure of my place. “It was my job to pick on people like the Gleeks. It’s like, that was what they were there for, you know?” His face pinked up a bit.

“Have a bad day? Slush someone. Flunk a test? Shove someone into a locker. Bored? Throw someo—“ He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then swallowed. “Throw Kurt in the dumpster. And for variety? Lock the wheelchair kid in the porta-potty and tip it over.”

Burt winced.

“Yeah,” Puck nodded, wryly. “Asshole. But after Glee, it was like…like they started to be real people. They had hang-ups, and homework. They got angry, and sad and happy. And Kurt…,” Puck ducked his head. “Kurt’s just so…there. You know?”

“Oh, I know, all right.” They shared a quick grin. 

“He kind of fascinated me. He was…weird, and cool. And one day, I turned around, and I was apparently gay.” 

He sighed. “It’s just strange. I always liked girls—women. So, guys? What the hell? It was really confusing for a long time. Then, I kind of noticed that it wasn’t all the guys…”

“It was just Kurt?”

“Yeah. Just Kurt. So, then it all started to snowball, I guess. Kurt, the kitten, dinner.” He paused. “Look, I know I’m a dick. But, I’m trying to be different,” he pleaded. “I’m trying to take responsibility for my daughter, for Quinn—if she’d let me, for fucking up my best friend.

“I’m trying to be a better person. And I guess…It just really hurt to find out that the guy I—That the guy I want to be with, doesn’t believe in me.”

“That’s not true, Noah.” Kurt’s voice came from the doorway. Puck twisted around to see a well-dressed, well-groomed Kurt looking earnestly at him. “I do believe in you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending.

“I believe in you, Noah.” …

 

Puck smiled sadly. “It’s okay, Kurt. I get it. I really do. I am one fucked up individual.”

“Noah, you want to do the right thing. I know that. I knew that then. I just had doubts that you knew what the right thing was.”

Puck shrugged and smiled wryly, turning back to the table. Kurt huffed and pulled out the chair across from his father. He looked at Burt, a query on his face. Burt closed his eyes briefly and nodded.

Kurt laid a hand on Puck’s arm. Puck’s eyes locked on it. Dark against light. Soft against calloused. Thick and strong against slender and delicate. Puck thought their hands looked good together.

“You’re something else, you know,” Puck murmured, eyes still on their hands. “You’re smart and talented. You’re strong and beautiful.” He glanced up into Kurt’s eyes, briefly, his skin tinting a faint pink.

“I know that you’re one of a kind; you’re special. You deserve to be treated like you’re special. I—I know I didn’t do that. I treated you--” he choked a moment on the lump in his throat. “I treated you like the trash I threw you in. Every day. And I will regret that for the rest of my life.”

“So, what about now?” Burt asked. Puck turned his head. Burt was sitting just as loose limbed as he had been, but there was a tension around his eyes that told Puck his next answer was important.

“I’d like to make it up to him. I’d like him to know how important he is to me.” He turned his hand over, twining his fingers with Kurt’s. “I want everyone to know how important he is to me.”

“Oh, Noah.” Kurt breathed.

Puck smiled gently and reached out to smooth his hand over Kurt’s already smooth hair. To his surprise, Kurt didn’t push his hand away from his perfect hair.   
Rather, he leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut. Puck brought his hand forward to cup Kurt’s cheek. Kurt turned his face into it, and opened his eyes. They were so bright; Puck could see his reflection in them. 

“I would like your permission, Mr. Hummel, to ask your son out.”

A small cry escaped Kurt’s throat, and his bright eyes turned shiny with unshed tears. Burt crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“And what, exactly, would this ‘going out’ look like?” he asked gruffly.

“Oh, Dad,” Kurt choked, still staring back into Puck’s eyes. “Shut up and tell him yes.”

Burt snorted, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Well, son, if you’re sure--”

“I’m sure,” Kurt whispered.

“All right, then. I suppose I can’t stand between…well, whatever this is.” He waved his hand in their direction.

Puck grinned at Burt. “For now, this is me asking if I can take Kurt to the mall on Saturday.”

Burt blinked slowly. Looked at Kurt. Back to Puck. Leaned forward. “Okay, son,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “Now I said I wouldn’t stand in the way, but this…this is kind of like letting you sky-dive without a chute.”

Kurt gasped and reached out to smack his father’s arm. “What?” Burt ducked back, laughing. “I’m trying to get you two together, not scare him away forever.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it, old man. Just because you can’t keep up with me, doesn’t mean Noah can’t.”

“Oh, no,” Puck grinned. “I’m totally with your dad on this one.” He held his arms up to block Kurt’s smack. “There’s no way in hell I’m spending all day listening to horror stories of getting the wrong shade of white.”

“Oh, you--”

“Which is why…” Puck raised his voice to drown out Kurt’s complaints, “I’m inviting Mercedes.”

Puck peeked through his raised arms to see Kurt cross his arms and deliver bitch-face. “And Tina?” he offered. Head tilt. “Um…Rachel?” Squint. “A—and Brittany?”

Kurt hmphed. “Well, that will work for a start, I suppose.”

Puck exchanged glances. ‘A start?’ Burt mouthed. Puck grinned and shrugged.

“However, you will be bored out of your mind, and though I know the benches are there _for a reason_ ,” Kurt looked pointedly at Burt, “I’d feel…guilty if you spent the whole day just waiting on me.”

Burt chuckled. “Well, look at that. Must be love, Puck.”

Kurt, glaring, ran his finger through the water ring left by Puck’s glass and flicked it at his dad…though his face did turn a bit pink.

“Why don’t you ask someone for you, too?” Kurt continued

Puck nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose I could ask Artie. Mike and Matt would come, but they’d spend the whole day in the arcade.”

Kurt shrugged. “That’s okay, too. I don’t mind if you’re in the arcade. At least I know you’re still…there.” He dropped his eyes to the water ring again and drew designs through it.

Puck leaned over and shoulder bumped him. “If I wanted to spend the day in the arcade, I would. I want to spend the day with you. Just not…you know _shopping_ with you.” His brow furrowed earnestly. “You know?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he smiled. “I know. Why don’t you invite Finn?”

A chilled silence fell over the table. Puck leaned back in his chair, gently shaking Kurt’s hand free to wrap arms around his own midsection. “That’s not a good idea.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Why not? Finn is your best friend. And Rachel will be thrilled that he’s there.”

Puck looked at Kurt in exasperation. “You know why, Kurt. I’m sure you didn’t miss his fist firmly planted in my face, right?”

Burt’s gazed bounced from one to the other, and he bit his lip to keep from interjecting.

“No, I remember that,” Kurt agreed. “I also remember how I never saw you without each other until Quinn came into the picture.”

“Yeah, well, that right there.” Puck pointed his chin at Kurt. “Quinn came into the picture.”

Kurt sighed. “Noah, Quinn isn’t in the picture anymore. Finn is with Rachel. The baby is yours. Finn has absolutely no ties with Quinn anymore.”

Puck turned pain-filled eyes on Kurt. “Well, he cut whatever ties he had with me. End of story.”

“No, actually it’s not the end of the story,” Kurt crossed his legs, cupping his kneecap with both hands.

Puck threw up his hands. “What the fuck, Hummel? We just got back together…or, whatever, and we’re already fighting?”

Kurt leaned in closely, barely six inches from Puck’s face. “I happen to care about you, Noah Puckerman,” he snapped. “I don’t like to see you unhappy.”

“Kurt, baby, I’m not unhappy.” Puck reached out and plucked Kurt’s hands up off of his knee. “I have you.” He smiled and brought Kurt’s hands to his mouth for a kiss.

Kurt seemed to melt for a moment, his eyes getting shiny again. Then his gaze hardened. “Yes, you do have me, Noah. You have me to pull your head out of your ass and push you towards the things you’re too scared to do alone.”

Puck snorted and released Kurt’s hands. “I’m not scared of anything.”  
Kurt brought his hands back to his knee and sat, quietly staring Puck down. Puck sighed and turned to Burt. “Come on, you see how stupid this is, right, Burt?

Burt studied his glass of orange juice carefully.

“What? Both of you?” Puck threw his hands up and pushed his chair back. “Whatever.”

Kurt pinched his lips tightly as he watched Puck leaving again.

Puck made it to the doorway when Burt cleared his throat. “The first thing Mary taught me about being in a relationship was trust.” Puck froze at the gravelly, almost-whisper. 

“You don’t always have to understand why they do it, you don’t even have to agree with it. But you have to trust that they care enough about you to have a reason for doing it.”

Puck leaned against the doorway and looked at Burt out of the corner of his eye. “Now, I can see why you’d think Kurt is just being difficult, but you should really ask yourself why. Why would he jeopardize your relationship with a little bitch-fit?” Kurt shot a glare at him that Burt ignored. “What’s more important to him than bending over backwards trying to make you happy?”

Puck’s head fell backward and knocked against the doorframe. He sighed. “I don’t know, Burt,” he said tiredly. “What?”

Burt shook his head. “Oh, no, son. That’s not the way a relationship works. If you have someone giving you the answers all the time, you never learn to stop screwing up, just how to get around screwing up.”

He pushed himself to his feet and took his orange juice glass to the sink. He moved toward the doorway and stopped as he came even with Puck. Reaching out, he patted Puck on the shoulder. He leaned in close, his voice low enough that it couldn’t reach back to the table. 

“Every day, son. I wish to God my Mary were still here to get pissed off at me. You need to stop running out the door every time things get hard, son. One day, you’ll want back in and your key won’t work anymore.”

He waited until Puck had met his gaze and nodded before smiling and patting his arm again. “I’ll just leave you two to talk, then.”

Puck heaved a huge sigh and dragged his feet back to the kitchen chair. He flung himself into it and crossed his arms. After a moment, he looked at Kurt. “Okay. So, explain.”

Kurt bristled indignantly, then shook his head and blew a slow breath out his nose. “Noah, I haven’t seen you happy for weeks.” 

“Yeah, well, Kurt. You haven’t exactly been throwing confetti either.”

“I know that. Noah.” Kurt’s concerned tone turned frosty. “However upsetting these last few weeks have been, I have still had my dad. And I’ve had Mercedes, Tina, Artie and even Brittany and Rachel. And guess whom else, Noah? I’ve had Finn.”

Puck narrowed his eyes.

“Who’s been there for you, Noah? Kurt raised both eyebrows, leaning forward. “What was that, Noah? No one, you say? Hmmm.”

Puck clenched his jaw. “And? What about it? Other than you getting to be a dick about how you got all of our friends in the ‘divorce’.”

“Oh, my—Grr!” Kurt threw his hands into the air now. “You stupid, stubborn—grr!” He slammed his hands down on the table, wincing a bit as he hit too hard. 

“Do you really think that Brittany filled the same role for me as my father?” Kurt glared, wide-eyed in frustration. Puck glared back. Kurt hauled his leg under his chair and snapped it out, proving why he made the kicker’s position on the team.

“Ow! Fuck, Hummel!” Puck yanked his leg up off the floor and clutched his bruised shin. Kurt just glared.

“Do. You. Think. Th--”

“No! Okay? Fuck! No, I don’t think Brittany did the same as your dad.”

Kurt’s expression fell back into lofty arrogance. “You are correct. Brittany made me smile. Mercedes talked shopping with me. My dad held me when I cried. 

“Artie let me push him around the building on endless, silent walks while I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t pathetic to stare at the back of your stupid, skunk-head, drawing fucking broken hearts on my goddamn Spanish notes!”

His nostrils flared with each breath. “Not one of them could do what the others did. Dammit, Noah. I care about you a great deal. But I can’t do everything, Can’t be everything to you.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Puck grumbled.

“No. You’re not. And that’s kind of the problem. You won’t, either. You won’t ask for what you need. I don’t know if it’s sheer stubbornness or you don’t think you deserve to ask.” Kurt huffed and dashed away the wetness from his eyes.

“Whatever the reason, the fact remains that you need people just as much as the rest of us. And if you can’t see that, I’m going to shove it in your face until you do.”

Puck turned his head away, staring intensely at the dishwasher controls.   
“Why Finn?” he asked dully.

“Why not?” Kurt replied softly.

Puck rolled his head back to look incredulously at Kurt. “Um, because I knocked up his girlfriend and lied to him for four months?”

Kurt shrugged. “I set Rachel up to be humiliated in front of Finn. I tried to take him away from Quinn. I let Mercedes believe I was straight so she wouldn’t leave.”

Puck looked pityingly at him. “All very naughty things, I’m sure, but--”

“I got my mother killed.” The snide remainder of his sentence froze in Puck’s throat. Kurt smiled faintly. “Yeah, didn’t see that one coming, did you? The point is that we all do stupid things. We’re all just living life as best we can between fuck-ups of varying severity.”

“But he hates me,” Puck whispered, sadly.

“He’s hurt, yes,” Kurt nodded. “He doesn’t understand why you’d treat him like that. He’s angry, and rightfully so, which I think you agree with. Don’t you?”

Puck nodded slowly. 

“But he doesn’t hate you. One sad benefit of staring longingly at the back of your head is that I noticed who else was staring, too.” Kurt stretched his arm out to lift Puck’s chin. “Let him give you a chance to explain.”

“But what if I don’t have an explanation?”

Kurt laughed. “Sometimes, ‘I’m sorry, I was an ass,’ is all the explanation a person needs.”

Puck reached up to take hold of Kurt’s hand and twined their fingers together. “Okay. But when he punches me in the face again, you’re buying me ice cream.”

Kurt grinned. “Yeah. I can do that.”

__________________________________

Epilogue

 

Puck sat, back against the arm of the giant, leather couch. Kurt sprawled between his legs, resting his back on Puck’s chest. He nestled his head in the crook of Puck’s shoulder and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Puck’s fingers running through his not-so-perfect-anymore hair. 

Puck, on the other hand, stared in awe at the huge pile of shopping bags lying in the middle of the room. “Christ, Hummel,” he chuckled. “You really are the queen of shopping.” 

Kurt giggled without opening his eyes. “Can’t say you weren’t warned,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but…damn.”

Kurt gently smacked Puck’s leg and then tugged it closer around his hip. “Looked like you and Finn were doing well.”

Puck rubbed his cheek on the top of Kurt’s head. “We were. We are. I think, maybe we can’t forget about it, maybe we shouldn’t forget about it. But we can move past it. We did pretty good today.”

Kurt nuzzled back at Puck’s cheek “You’ll be best friends again. I know it.”

“It was kind of weird, today. I mean, not you. Or us. We weren’t weird.”

Kurt grinned, lolling his head on Puck’s chest. “You can stop panicking. I know you didn’t mean us.”

Puck squeezed Kurt’s hips with his legs. “They seemed surprised to see me. But, not surprised to see _us_.”

“Well, I didn’t tell them you were coming.” Kurt yawned, wiggling to get comfortable. “But they’ve been listening to me whine for weeks about how much I’ve missed you and how I screwed up being with you.”

“You didn’t screw it up.”

Kurt started to protest.

“And I didn’t screw it up either,” Puck talked over him. “It just wasn’t the right time. I didn’t know who I was, and you couldn’t trust who I was.”

“It’s not--”

“Hey,” Puck laughed. “Stop. I get it. It doesn’t matter. You’re here, with me, right now and whatever happened back then doesn’t fucking matter.”  
Into the silence came a ‘mew’, and Kurt’s eyes flew open to see the little grey kitten picking her way gingerly across the back of the couch. She hopped down into Kurt’s lap and sat, staring at him.

“I’ll feed you in a minute, okay?

She mewed reproachfully, then balled up in Kurt’s lap, her tail touching the tip of her nose. Puck smiled and reached down to stroke her fur. His smile grew bigger when she started to purr.

“I never thanked you for getting her all of her baby things, did I?” Kurt asked, softly. Puck shrugged slightly and adjusted her collar, a pale pink band, liberally enhanced with pink jewels. “I think her collar is perfect.”

Puck nodded and grinned. “Yep. It has you written all over it.”

“Flashy and gay?” Kurt frowned mockingly.

“Nah,” Puck said huskily. “Pink and shiny.” He touched the tip of his finger to the bridge of Kurt’s nose and ran his finger down the slope, tapping the end lightly. Kurt blushed.

“So, what did you end up naming the little lady?”

Kurt’s blush turned deeper. Puck grinned again. “What?”

“Little lady.”

“Yeah, the little lady. The cat,” Puck laughed.

“No, that’s what I named her. Little Lady.”

“Oh.” Puck smiled and tilted Kurt’s head back, making Kurt look up at him. “Thank you.”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s just a name.”

“No. Thank you for everything.

“Oh,” Kurt breathed softly. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome to what?” Puck grinned wickedly.

Kurt raised a brow. “What do you want?” Puck leaned in slowly, closing his eyes a fraction of a second before their lips met. Kurt had a moment to think how pretty Puck’s lashes were, then his eyes fluttered shut.

There were no wet, thrusting tongues; no devouring of each other’s lips. All in all, as first kisses went, it was kind of perfect. Puck’s lips were full and gentle. They slid softly across Kurt’s mouth, leaving a warm tingle in their wake.

Just as slowly as he’d leaned in, Puck pulled back and waited for Kurt to dazedly open his eyes; he smiled tenderly at the lost, unfocused look they held.

Puck gently bumped their noses together and then sat back, pulling Kurt more securely into his arms. Kurt snuggled down, safe and warm and contented. 

Little Lady cracked open one bright green eye and peered up at her people. Satisfied that they were finally going to be still, she closed her eye and happily purred herself to sleep.


End file.
